


Terror Tumblr Prompts

by teapig



Series: The Terror one-shots [6]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Just straight up fluffy contemplative stuff really, M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 13:12:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14916014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teapig/pseuds/teapig
Summary: Trying to keep an eye on what I've already written and what I haven't is like herding cats right now - so thought that if I at least corral these, it's something...!





	1. 19. Things we said when we were the happiest we ever were

  1. Things you said when we were the happiest we ever were  
  
Do you remember, my love, when we were the happiest we ever were? I wonder when you’d say it was. Now that I look back on it, there are so many moments – those ones where I caught your gaze and held it there, when words couldn’t quite explain what we were feeling. People often assume it would be the arbitrary moments that we’d pick – but with us, I don’t feel it could be. Our engagement (“Marry me, James? Even if we don’t make it out of this one, let me dream that I might once have had you as my husband.”), our wedding day (which became our first day under steam in years), our honeymoon (surrounded by bergs that could’ve taken us all to hell in the blink of an eye) – they were all so unique, yet all charged with that deepset terror that we could still lose each other.  
  
Some would assume, then, that your knighthood, awarded for bringing us safely out of the Passage against all the odds, would’ve been the moment we stood on top of the world. But it’s not the moment that the Queen laid the ceremonial sword on your shoulder that I see most clearly when I think of that day; not the lump in my throat that appeared when I saw you kneeling there, receiving what you’d earned from the very beginning, and what they’d held back from you by their own, ill-founded prejudice.  
  
I wonder, do you remember that moment in the garden, after the ceremony was over? When I met you behind that ornate fountain, “my very own Sir Crozier”. When I was so proud that I couldn’t stop smiling, and you couldn’t either. When you took my face in your gloved hands and kissed me in the fountain spray. You were glowing that afternoon in the golden sunshine – a mixture of disbelief, of delight, of an almost childish joy. You held my hand as we wandered back through the Palace grounds, before pausing to straighten out my new epaulettes. “They took their sweet time making you a Captain in title as well as reality.” You grumbled.   
“Not as long as they took to recognise you for the wonder you are.” I replied, softly. 



Meaning it.   
  
Do you remember that evening in which we gathered together all our friends from the Expedition? When we all came together, recovered from the nightmare of that journey, to eat together again one last time – free now from scurvy, from the dread of never getting home, from the terrifying effects of the lead... That night, so many men came to me with anecdotes of your kindness to them – showing me all over again that the reason we made it home at all was, at the first and last, down to you; your kindness; your strength. We all chatted late into the night – Harry Goodsir talking animatedly about his new paper, and his hopes for his Inuktitut dictionary as his husband gazed on at him fondly. Jopson, finally relaxing from his stewarding mentality and beginning to get to know the man we now fondly call our son-in-law, his eyes shining bright in the candlelight. Thomas Blanky, your old friend, horsing round on a new leg as if he was but a few years old, his well-natured ribbing bringing out that roar of laughter from you that I’ve grown to love so much. I remember we made eye contact then, your whole face alive with sheer happiness that we were there at all, your childlike grin lighting your eyes as you made your way over to me. “You’re looking very thoughtful there, Captain,” you teased in that warm accent of yours that now never fails to make me feel safe, “something on your mind?”   
“Just- just you.” I replied, “And how lucky I am to have you in my life even now that we’re on land.”   
That evening now is tinged with sadness – as age and war continued to run on, we’ve lost a number of those old friends. Never again would we all come together as we once had, yet it remained a fond memory for both of us.   
  
Do you remember, love, the day we handed in our resignations from active service? The slight nostalgia as we walked down the familiar halls of the Admiralty together for the last time, linked together by our little fingers alone. The way we both paused before we did it, wondering if we really were brave enough to give up the lives we’d been raised to lead, and yet knowing that the Navy now was not the same one that we’d once pledged our service to – and that we weren’t the same men, either. Do you remember the rush of elation as we jogged down the steps together, before we raced home, finally free from the absurd structures of association that had held you down, and pushed me much too far? How you threw your hat down on the desk, before turning to grab me at the waist, spinning me round giddily as if I weighed nothing. The way you laughed with me then will always stay with me, darling – our foreheads pressed together, chests heaving in unison as we realised that we’d finally, finally begun the first day of the rest of our lives together. “We’re free, Francis,” I whispered against your lips, “free.”   
  
I wonder, do you remember all this now as you sit there, enraptured, gazing down at our daughter. After four years of drifting, of being thrown from one unwilling family to another, she’d fallen into our lives as if it was what Fate intended. When I ask you, once I prise you away from her for long enough to get some rest, what persuaded you to take her in, you’ll take my face in your salt-scarred hands. “You. You looked like you were looking into a mirror of your past, and when I saw that look on your face, I just knew that we had to. For her sake and for yours.”   
  
But for now, I’ll stand by you, watching our daughter’s peaceful breathing, and thank whatever god is out there that she’ll never have a childhood like mine. That her fathers will love and cherish her as she deserves. After everything, it almost seems irony that the greatest gift we’ve received is also called Patience. As you turn to glance up at me, I’ll wrap my arms around your shoulders, drop kisses in your hair as you glow back up at me with silent pride.   
  
I wonder if, one day, we’ll look back on this day, too, and ask each other, “Do you remember, my love, the things we said when we were the happiest we’ve ever been?”


	2. Things you said while you were crying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by my pal @hungryhobbits. Not a pairing I'd really thought about, so it got vague and wandered - but here it is, regardless!

In the few weeks since Harry had moved to _Terror_ with Lady Silence, he'd picked up quietly that a number of things were very wrong. One being that the strange symptoms were present here too, among the few men left aboard. Another was that the Captain was very ill. Ill to the point that his officers huddled round in quiet groups, never daring to mention that underlying fear that he might not make it out; and even if he did, he may not be the same man for it. And finally, that, in the midst of it all, it had fallen to his steward, Jopson, to become head nurse to the Captain. Having witnessed Crozier at his worst with Silna a few weeks ago, Harry didn't envy him that job. All this he'd noticed from his daily journeys between Silna's berth and his own near the officers. What the men must be thinking by now...

In the time that had intervened, he'd barely seen Jopson until he suggested that, whilst he was already taking trays down to Silna, he might as well take one up to him, too. There was no hiding the fact that the man had lost weight; that the sparkle in his eye, the same glint that had first captivated Harry when they met at the docks before they'd set sail, had long been dulled down to a tired gleam at best, and hidden under a bloodshot layer at worst.

And so that tradition had begun - as soon as he could be excused from the wardroom, he'd load up a tray for Silna, covering it to keep things warm - and then another, with an extra something for the Captain should he feel he could keep it down. Most days he'd knock softly, just once to avoid making any more noise, and be met at the door by an exhausted smile, the owner catching it up a few moments later. "You really didn't have to, Dr Goodsir..." The smile would say. "I know, Jopson. But I wanted to." He'd reply, normally followed by a plea to call him Harry by now. Other times he'd been able to hear the Captain from the doorway, leaning there for a moment as Jopson would beg, "Please Doctor, is there anything you can think of, anything at all that could help?" They both knew that only time could heal this, but it had never stopped him asking.

But tonight, there had been no answer at the door, and Harry had considered leaving it on the floor outside until he heard the scatter of claws on the deck, and Neptune's heavy breathing on the other side. Instead, he opened it slightly, ruffling Neptune's fur to encourage him to step back before poking his head inside. "Is everything alright?" He called softly into the room, before catching sight of the silent tableau inside. The Captain was finally sleeping peacefully, a feat that hadn't been achieved for a while, and there, slumped at his side, was Jopson, leaning against the wall where he’d dropped off to sleep. Quietly, Harry had left the tray on the table, watching as Neptune jumped back up to curl at the Captain’s feet. Crouching down in front of Jopson’s chair, he called his name softly, squeezing his shoulder to try and bring him back to consciousness. Soon enough, he was greeted by a pair of sleepy soft green eyes, followed by Jopson startling into himself. “God, how did you- Dr Goodsir?”

“It’s alright, Mr Jopson,” Harry began, staying formal as he woke up, sticking to the rigid rules that Jopson had been raised under. “Your dinner’s waiting on the table next door… but would you consider letting someone else take over for you this evening? You look exhausted, and it can’t be good for you…” He trailed off as Jopson began to shake his head whilst yawning heartily. “I’ll be alright, thank you Doctor. ‘s just the quietness getting to me, I think.” Knowing better than to argue, Harry retreated then, trying to avoid embarrassing Jopson any further as he rolled on with his routine.

After the busy noise of the ship, the expectations, the eternal feeling of being _watched_ , he was ready for Silna’s quiet company – bound there to simple, straight-forward conversation by their language gap, he didn’t have to worry about the absurd nuances of men who tried to say things by using far more words to avoid saying it directly.

She’d been able to tell something was bothering him – and at the mention of Jopson’s name, she’d clearly understood. She’d let him talk at length about the situation as she calmly whittled away at her next carving, interjecting when she understood, remaining a calming presence when she didn’t. The end of the last dog watch rang out; it was time he left. As always, he hung in the doorway for a few moments, waiting for the noise and bother of men changing watch to die down as they said their goodnights. Neither of them relished having to squeeze between the sea of men that occasionally swelled in the narrow passageways, preferring instead the deafening silence that followed. Yet, as Harry left Silna’s berth for the night, not all was silent in the hold. The rapid breathing at first told him he should let things well enough alone; but he stopped, one foot on the bottom rung of the ladder, as he heard a stifled sob. “H-Hello? Is someone there?” He asked softly, grabbing one of the lanterns hanging on the bulkheads before heading into the stifling dark of the hold.

In the darkness, Jopson held his breath, hoping desperately that whoever it was wouldn’t find him – that they’d decide it was the ice playing tricks on their ears once again. The voice got nearer and nearer, and he tucked his feet under himself, feeling absurd as he cowered between the crates. Was that Goodsir? Jopson dreaded to think how he’d react to the man’s eternal kindness while he was in this state – knowing already that he’d crumble under the patience of his voice after the constant strain and isolation of the last week or so. He swallowed a sob, trying to even out his ragged breathing to a quieter strain, especially as a light began to creep along the walls. “It’s alright,” called that soft voice, “It’s only me – I mean, it’s Mr Goodsir.” The footsteps paused for a second, listening. “If you tell me where you are, maybe I can help?” Silently, the tears continued to course down Jopson’s face before he heard a broken voice call out uncertainly; “Harry?” Moments later, as the light shuffled closer, he realised it had been his own.

Harry inched closer, before jumping slightly at the use of his first name. _Oh Christ, is it someone I know? How didn’t I notice sooner that someone needed me?_ He asked himself, before spotting a darker shadow in the corner. That shadow quickly became a pair of legs, arms clenching round them as it, or rather _he_ , shrank back against their wooden prison. Hoping to avoid blinding him, Harry placed the lantern next to him rather than using it to identify the man cowering before him – then, slowly, he crouched down in front of him. “Jopson?” He asked, keeping his voice lower now, cursing the fact that he’d never asked his first name. “Jopson, is that you?”

The timid, ashamed face that emerged into the flickering light confirmed that it was, and he took the steadying hand that Harry extended gratefully as he unfurled. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I…I didn’t want anyone to see me like this – especially not you…”

"Hey now,” Harry replied, pulling Jopson out of the hole he’d made for himself, settling them either side of the lantern. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I thought- I thought I’d better make sure you’re alright… even though you clearly aren’t but-” He broke off, cursing himself internally for his awkward rambling. It was in that moment that he saw the light glinting off the tears on Jopson’s cheeks, that his hand moved instinctively, first to his shoulder, and then to rub soothingly at his back. Seconds later, Jopson’s arms were round his neck, tears soaking into his shoulder even as he began to apologise, “I’m sorry, Harry – I just… I can’t…”

“There, now,” Harry replied, hoping his voice could begin to cut through the fear in Jopson’s as his voice hitched, “it’s alright. How about you tell me what’s going on, and then we can find a way through it?” He felt Jopson nod shakily once, twice, three times as he gulped down air between sobs. “I-I’m sorry, I’m just… just so scared…”

“For the Captain?”

Jopson nodded again, grateful that Harry was on the right track. “Some days he seems to be doing better – and then he’ll just…” He choked back another sob, Harry squeezing his shoulder as he did so, “He’ll just crash back down, worse than he’s ever been.” Trailing off, he looked up into Harry’s kind face, hating the fact that the worried furrow in his forehead was his doing today. His voice grew steadier for a moment, although it remained tired and raw as he spoke. “You’re a doctor, you know the risks. Any second now, his heart could just… just stop?”

“But that’s _incredibly_ rare, Mr Jopson; we both know that. And the captain’s strong – he’s got a better chance than many.”

“Call me Thomas, please,” he replied, his eyes searching Harry’s rapidly. “Is it so rare? Only my mother…” He trailed off, eyes falling to the deck as he did so. “My mother had similar trouble with laudanum. One night I was supposed to be watching her… I went next door to fetch some water while she slept, and when I came back… When I came back, she’d gone.” He confessed, biting the inside of his cheek as he did so, his eyes burning once again. “It’s been about two years now, but that kind of guilt stays with you, Harry. Every time I close my eyes, I see her cold face-” By now, the tears were falling again, and Harry pulled him in, his breath ghosting against his cheek, “And if it isn’t hers, it’s the captain’s, just in the same state. And I- oh God, I can’t do this again!” He crumpled into Harry’s shoulder, sobs wracking through him as he did so.

Having listened intently, Harry pulled him in close now, resting his head on top of Thomas’, lips brushing his hair. “Oh Thomas… I’m sorry,” he sighed, feeling him shake against him as he rubbed soothing circles across his back. “I can’t make any promises… but I _truly_ believe that, with the strength he’s shown so far, and with the care you and Dr MacDonald can give him, he’s got a good chance of pulling through.” “You think so?” Came the muffled reply, half-lost in the dense wool of Harry’s coat.

“I do. But that being said, you need to get some rest, Thomas. You’ll be in no state to help him if you’re utterly run down yourself.” Jopson opened his mouth to protest, only for Harry to cut him off. “Look, how about I sit with him for a few hours at least tonight, while you get some sleep? You’ll only be next door, and so if something were to happen you’ll be right there…” His fingers danced lightly along Jopson’s arm as he spoke, soothing him as his tears began to subside. “And likewise, if you need anything, I’ll be right there for you. Would that be alright?” He asked, glancing down as Jopson pulled away, catching his teary gaze and holding it there. “If… if you’re sure, Harry? It can be tough, and I don’t mind-” “Jo- Thomas, I’m close enough to being a doctor to have seen all sorts of things – I’m sure I can manage one night.” Harry admonished him, pulling out his handkerchief, unfolding it before automatically beginning to dab away the tears, pausing only once the job was done. “Sorry, you could probably have done this for yourself!” He said, handing the handkerchief over as he flushed. “No, s’alright,” Jopson grinned weakly at him. “I’m touched, honestly. Thank you, Harry. For all of this.” He took the kerchief gratefully, squeezing Harry’s fingers as he did so. “But only if you’re sure?”

Ten minutes later, Harry had let Dr Macdonald know where he’d be, giving Jopson some time to change and recompose himself. Knocking on the door softly, he let himself in to find a still-sleeping Captain, now mostly covered by a heavily sleeping dog, and Thomas hovering at the partition between the rooms, smiling tiredly. “I thought you’d be tucked up by now!” Harry teased gently, placing his book down on the chair next to the captain, before moving into Jopson’s small berth to avoid disturbing him. “I wanted to make sure you knew where everything was…” Jopson began, before Harry hushed him, pressing his fingers over his lips light-heartedly. “I’ll manage, Thomas, don’t you worry. I’ve got him, and I’ve got you – now, get some rest, alright?”

In the morning, they’d both deny that he’d tucked Jopson in that night – calling it a figment of tired imaginations, or of wishful thinking. They’d convince themselves that those lingering, soothing touches had never happened… and that while Harry told himself he’d really just stuck his head in to be sure Jopson was sleeping soundly, Thomas told himself that he’d not been pretending to sleep then – and that he’d dreamed the soft kiss Harry’d pressed against his forehead.


	3. 6. Things we said in the grass and under the stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A prompt that @FeelingKindaVintage gave me when the rest of these came through, but unfortunately got horrendously, horribly delayed. They've been so kind in waiting for it, but I'm afraid it rather.... Escaped me. Quite dramatically. By a few thousand words..! I'll do my best to fix the formatting once I'm back near a laptop, but for now, please excuse the phone writing!  
> Hope you enjoy it though!

It had been one of those long, lazy, late summer evenings - the kind where the horizon set itself alight as the sunset drags on for what seemed like hours. They'd told themselves that they’d set off back home before the light went completely, and yet here they were. James was bathed in the moonlight as he stared at the stars emerging from the darkening sky, with Francis watching him, propped up against the grand old oak tree and with Patience slumped against his chest, fast asleep after their ‘big adventure’, all flushed cheeks and dark curls.

All around him lay the scattered remains of their picnic, replete with tiny jam tarts Pats (the nickname which had emerged from nowhere and stuck ever since) had made with her adopted brother when he'd visited this morning. Jopson had patiently coached her as she spooned the jam into each pastry cup, only to fall victim to her excitement to show off to Francis. “Look, da!” She'd exclaimed, brandishing the sticky spoon and sending jam flying to spatter over Jopson's face. The two men had stared at one another for a second in silence, before doubling over laughing, Pats’ little giggle joining them once she was sure she wasn't in trouble. After successfully defeating the Pudding Monster (known as James to those beyond the four walls of home), they'd baked together, Pats carefully dividing the tarts into two piles, her tongue sticking out in concentration, before they'd seen Thomas off.

Next to the basket lay her little butterfly net, and her jar of ‘specimens’ - mainly little flowers she would press when they got back, but also a few rarer blooms, and butterflies’ wings that neither of her fathers had seen before. Francis had been dozing in the sun when James called him over. Pats had been sat in front of him, cradling the butterfly wing she'd found whilst his husband plaited flowers into her hair with his nimble fingers. They'd both scrutinised it, but to no avail. “Can we send it to Uncle Harry?” She'd asked, “He knows everything.”

“I'm sure we could ask him. Maybe we could send some of your flowers up too. He's staying with his big sister now, and I'm sure she'd love to see them.” James had replied brightly, not missing a beat before he glanced up at Francis. They'd shared a glance, knowing it could be months before they'd get a reply. Whilst Doctor Goodsir was doing much better than he had been, he still struggled day to day as he continued to be dogged by the darkness that still scarred his wrists. Jane was a saint with all she had helped him through, but it remained a challenge for him to cope with regardless.

“We've not seen him for _ages!_ ” Patience had mumbled, a slight whine to her voice before Francis squeezed her shoulder.

“I know, my dove. We’ll try to see him soon. When he's feeling a bit better, hm? But I'm sure these will cheer him up for now.” He soothed, eyes flickering up to James and being met with a nod and a sad smile. _She'll_ _understand one day._

And here James came now, ambling back to him with the moonlight catching in his curls, and sparkling in his eyes. “It's quite a different sky to look at now.” He said quietly as he came closer, a soft grin gracing his face at the sight of his daughter snuggled up with his husband.

“A bit less green to the one we got used to, once. And a bit more regular in its comings and goings, hm?” He replied, covering Pats’ ear as he held her tight. “You want to bring that blanket over and tell me about it? Keep her warm?” Even in relatively balmy temperatures such as these, they both still worried about their daughter getting unnecessarily cold, just in case. James picked it up, draping the warm wool over Francis’ lap and tucking it around her, before coming round to the side where his spare arm lay. “'s that seat taken?” He joked, before lifting the blanket and snuggling under it. Cosying up to his husband's side, he pulled his spare arm around his waist and sighed contentedly.

“Mm, hello you.” Francis murmured, pressing a kiss to his husband's forehead as he nuzzled into his shoulder. “You comfy there?” He asked, receiving only a happy hum in reply. “Well don't get too comfortable. I might be able to carry one or the other of you home, but not both!”

James chuckled against his shoulder, leaning in as close as he could. “'ll do my best, love.”

They savoured the silence for a while, warm in each others’ company until James spoke again. “I'm so glad we turned down that invitation. I'm sure Lady Jane could put on quite the spread, brought together quite an array of people…. But I've less confidence in my ability to stay civil with overly inquisitive strangers when I could've been here instead.”

“You'd have been alright, love,” Francis admonished, teasing gently, “A couple of your yarns, with all the trimmings, and the evening would've been over before you knew it…!” It earned him a pout, followed by a well natured grin.

“'s still nothing in comparison to spending the day with you and the little one.” He said, leaning in to brush the hair from her face, checking she was warm enough as Francis watched them fondly.

“I'm with you there, I have to say. Days like these remind me how lucky we really are. Especially when I think of the poor doctor…”

“He’s a strong one, Francis. He'll come through, if anyone can.” James butted in, covering his husband's hand with his own. “That's what we said about you once upon a time. And here we are.” They lapsed into easy conversation, figuring out what they could do to ease Jane's burden, and if there was anyone else who they might be able to offer their help to, anyone else they needed to invite to visit in the not too distant future.

Eventually, their tired laughter rolled into a comfortable silence, Francis’ fingers dancing over his husband's forearm absentmindedly. “Do you ever wonder where we'd be now if we'd got through on the first try? The Passage, I mean?” James asked him, his face heavily doused with shadows as he gazed out at the night.

“What, beyond the other side of the world?! We'd likely have been bloody miserable, that's for certain.” After a few minutes, Francis continued. “I'd probably have been sent back again and again until something put an end to it. Or me, to be frank. My career was never going to get any further, not with things being the way they are. You on the other hand,” he squeezed James’ shoulders, “ _you_ would have kept taking the world by storm and being the star of the navy for as long as you pleased. Could've had anything and anyone you wanted.”

“But I have that. I didn't know what it was then, what I wanted. Not until he was standing right in front of me.” James, interrupted, gazing up at Francis, watching the moonlight flicker over his face. “Would you have asked Sophia again, do you think?”

Francis stiffened. “I… god, I don't know. Depends if Sir John would've let me anywhere near her after how sick he was of me by the end... But if he had, I'd probably have stayed in that loop indefinitely, until the ice took me, or a fine young man took her.” He replied, as bluntly as he dared. It was the past now to him, and one he barely thought of now that he had all this.

“I wonder if she will ever marry. Can't think what she's waiting for by now.” James pondered, changing the focus before he gave himself the chance to get jealous.

“I doubt she'll have either chance or choice in it now. Lady Jane wants a companion, and she wants Sophia to be that companion. So unless they meet someone that She deems 'suitable’ on their excursions, I'd doubt it. Not unlike poor Jane Goodsir I should think - too caught up, burdened even, with the job of supporting their family to really forge a life of their own. Mainly a woman's curse, perhaps, but a curse all the same.”

At that, they both looked to their daughter, curled up innocently on Francis’ chest, utterly oblivious to the world. "She'll be alright, James.” Francis continued, reading his face with a practiced ease. “We'll make sure of it. Teach her the power of a burden shared, and of good friends who'll help her, steady her so that she can stay strong, and afford to have time where she doesn't have to be. We've learned those lessons, my love, so that she doesn't have to.”

“But… if something were to happen to us before we can, what then?” James asked, remembering well that desperate loneliness of not belonging, of being trapped in a facade once your family were gone. Francis squeezed him tight, feeling his worry as he nuzzled into his long-healed hairline and let his eyes fall shut. He sighed sadly, breathing him in, as he tried to pull together the right words.

“If… _if_ something were to happen so that neither of us were around before she's full grown - which I highly doubt will _ever_ be the case, mind - then she will still be surrounded by people who love and care for her. She’s got her brother, who clearly adores her; 'nd Thomas Blanky, who'll never let any harm come to her at any cost, not while he's still breathing. And that's before you get to the Bridgens-Peglars, hm? John took you under his wing once upon a time, and he'd do the same for her in a heartbeat. Besides she already calls them grandda...” He paused, pressing slow kisses to James’ forehead, trying to soothe the anxious lines that had forged themselves there.

“Look, love. Look at me, hm?” Tilting his husband's chin up, Francis gazed down at him, into those eyes that were all but black in the dark. “You know as well as I do that we can't control what the world has in store for us - we never have, and never will be able to. But just think how far we've all come from that long winter, hm? Look at all we've built - not just us, but also a home, a family, and all those good old friend.” Squeezing James’ hand he fixed him with an earnest look. “We've got so many people, good, kind people, who know us for who we are, who care for all three of us. We've not got to be alone again, James, and neither has she. It’ll never be like it was before.” He whispered, pulling James close and pressing their foreheads together. “I promise you, it'll never be like it was before.”

 

James would never admit that he'd cried silently against Francis’ lips that night - that the tears, caught by the moonlight were erased by the shadow of his husband's warm thumbs as he brushed them away. Instead, he'd remembered of how warm and safe they felt, their tiny, hotchpotch family curled up under the stars, watching the night fall around them. Watching the bats flickering back and forth, faster than their eyes could truly register; the owls swooping silently across the sky, nightingales the only clear sound in the quiet night. Eventually, the cold began to set into their bones, triggering the leftover pain from what they'd once suffered. Between them, they packed up their basket, James collecting the various pieced and handing them to Francis to tuck away with his spare hand. Once they’d returned the land to how it had been, he helped Francis to stand, steadying him as he slowly stood up, one hand under his arm, the other on Patience's back. They walked back in quiet companionship, watching the world settle into the night, with James’ arm linked through Francis’, leaving his hands free so that he could keep Pats still as she slept on his shoulder.

Once they were home, Francis turned to his husband as he lit a lamp. “You want to tuck this one up?” He offered, hoping that it would help soothe any lingering anxieties by giving him a chance to take care of her. James beamed in the low light, quickly taking off his coat and rough outer layers before scooping her from Francis’ arms, tucking her face into the crook of his neck. “You'll be alright sorting everything else?” He checked, before Francis shooed him upstairs. Murmuring softly to his daughter, he'd got her ready for bed as best he could without disturbing her, before sliding her under the blankets, brushing her hair from her face as he prepared to leave her to rest. Francis had come to rest against the doorframe, watching his family proudly as James pressed a kiss to her forehead with a gentle blessing. James tried to glance up at his husband, only for a little hand to grab at his shirt, and a mumbly voice pulled his attention back to the bed. “Da always gives me _two_ kisses.” She grumbled, not even half-awake, and muffled by the pillow as she snuggled down, while Francis hid a grin for his husband.

“Well in that case, little love,” James whispered warmly, kneeling next to her pillow, and tucking her curls back patiently, “I shall have to give you three.” One was pressed to either cheek, before another to her forehead, each with its own expression. “Good night, Pats. Sweet dreams. And God bless you.” Her sleepy fist had fallen back to the pillow before the second kiss had landed, and in moments, she was fast asleep. Francis stepped in then, perching on the edge of the bed to soothe a hand over her hair, before helping James back up. “Setting me even higher standards, hm?” He teased in a whisper, before snuffing out the light. After their daughter, they'd quietly set the house to sleep, slipping into their quiet routines once more before finally, tiredly, they tucked themselves away, curled up close in one another's arms.


End file.
